Tell Me That The Rain Won't Fall Today
by Ariathel
Summary: Gabriel knew that the trickster he became, before Lucifer, would have hated the archangel he was now.  Blood and pain and lies and lessons, traded for interlaced fingers and curling up in a comfortable bed and Sam.


Title: Tell Me (That The Rain Won't Fall Today)  
>Author: ariathel<br>Words: 1126  
>Rating: PG-13<br>Pairings: Sam/Gabriel, Dean/Castiel mentioned in passing  
>WarningsSpoilers: Post wall-coming down Sam, Gabriel, Godstiel mentioned  
>Summary: Gabriel knew that he trickster he became, before Lucifer, would have hated the archangel he was now. Blood and pain and lies and lessons, traded for interlaced fingers and curling up in a comfortable bed and <em>Sam<em>.  
>AN: WTF. I don't know where this came from. Angsty, and kind of fluffy (I think? I don't know how to write fluff, man). I was listening to "Sweet Little Lies" by Michael Franti (same song the title's taken from), and this kind of spewed out of my brain.<strong><br>ALSO**: I know this would technically be AU of S7, but please – I haven't seen any of it yet, so no spoilers! Except episode 1, I already caved and watched that… but I'm strong, and I'm waiting for the season to be over, so I can have a weekend-long Supernatural fest.

* * *

><p>"No," Gabriel smirked, because it was what Sam needed to hear.<p>

He could see it, the fear, pounding in the human's eyes, thrumming through his veins, exhaled on a shaky breath.

"Good."

Rejection hurt, of course. Gabriel hadn't stepped back from his angelic self for nothing all those millennia ago. Angels were made to love, made to serve, made to fight, and heal, and protect. It was easier to exist, among humans, as a being that could dabble and touch and taste and move through them, experiencing emotions and discarding them as easily as shedding a sock. Loki was the perfect guise.

Every day he remained here now, in the presence of this human, he couldn't help but want. Coming back from beyond the grave left him little in the way of defenses; the lifetimes spent as a pagan, and then as a trickster had provided a buffer against the grace he had strangled and blanketed and gagged until it was nothing more than a whisper in the back of his mind, then nothing.

His weakness was Sam. It always had been. Sam, who _so_ resembled his beloved Lucifer, but in a package that he could understand and touch and not fear.

Sam, the poor, beautiful human, with his battered soul and fractured mind, screamed to Gabriel, silently, achingly, until he couldn't help but respond. Humans all over the world called to him, every second of every day. They wanted their children alive, their loves healed, their villages safe, their bellies full, their diseases cured.

Sam just screamed a bit louder, his voice a bit more familiar.

And Gabriel came. He turned his back when the hunter cried, allowing him the privacy to retain his pride while still offering silent companionship.

Chocolate chip pancakes when Sam's eyes filled with a far-away look, and the screams resonating inside Gabriel's head echoed just a bit louder. Whipped cream, sometimes, if he really wanted a smile.

A funny movie when Dean's bottles of beer piled up just a bit too high to stay in the trash can without fancy balancing work.

Quiet kisses with a hint of mint and citrus when every breath he took in burned and tasted of ashes and singed flesh and sulphur.

Gabriel knew that he trickster he became, before Lucifer, would have hated the archangel he was now. Blood and pain and lies and lessons, traded for interlaced fingers and curling up in a comfortable bed and _Sam_.

In truth, Gabriel didn't mind. He understood how he had become that creature, and understood that, in all honesty, that Gabriel was dead. Now, his grace thrummed through his veins, pulsating with joy at its freedom. It hadn't forgiven him for locking it away for so long, and upon Gabriel's first attempt to smother it, found himself a babbling mess for almost twelve hours.

Turns out his grace had learned some self-defense, Gabriel wryly thought.

Each night Sam woke up, only to find himself next to or on top of or curled around or being watched over by the archangel, the screams in his head quieted, just the tiniest bit.

Gabriel was giving Sam whatever he needed, without reservation or regret, before he even realized it.

And so, when Sam blurted out, "You don't love me, do you," Gabriel felt his heart break just a bit, his grace scrambling to patch the fracture.

"No," he smirked, because Sam needed it. Gabriel could feel the fear bleed out of Sam like sweat, evaporating off his skin and drowning the archangel. When Sam replied, "Good," he tried not to feel that crack widen as relief showed on Sam's face.

"I can't lose you too," Sam continued, and Gabriel's brows furrowed together. Sam's movements were erratic, as they were most days since the loss of the wall in his head. He jerked around, like this body wasn't really his, and he didn't know exactly which muscles to pull to elicit the desired responses. "Everyone who has ever loved me has died."

"Is that what this is about?"

"Look, I know it's probably just terrible karma, I mean… _apocalypse_, but still. You're the last good thing that's just mine. I won't lose you too."

Gabriel didn't let his jaw drop. There was nothing but honesty written on the youngest Winchester's face, his hands shaking as he tried to pour some water, cursing as the glass tipped from the vibrations of the jug, pitching towards the floor. A glance, a millisecond of Gabriel's thoughts, and the cup was righted, once more collecting cold water.

Sam turned, clenching it tightly.

"I don't know if I can exist without you. Not right now, maybe not ever." _If I wake up, and you're not there, I'm afraid Lucifer will win_.

Gabriel was floored.

"And so you can't love me. Because you'll die, then too, and maybe I'm really selfish, and maybe I'm not a whole person anymore, and I should care, but I don't, because Dean can't be mine anymore because I'm not 5, he has to save something for Cas too, and I want you to live long enough so that I can give you something back, something real and together," he was babbling on, and Gabriel slid closer, slowly. Sam's eyes didn't track his movements, and Gabriel gently pried the splintering glass out of his grip, before sliding hands along his hips.

"Sammy," he began, waiting until the hunter's gaze settled on him. "I don't think there's anything outside of my father that can kill me anymore." Not with Raphael dead, Castiel de-juiced and so contrite it was sickening, and Michael and Lucifer tearing each other to pieces in their cage.

"Doesn't matter," Sam murmured, his eyelids drooping, the task of keeping his mind whole sapping his energy. Gabriel buried his head under Sam's chin, wrapping his arms around his waist.

Yes, the trickster couldn't have done this, couldn't have _loved_ like this. Loki wouldn't have set aside his own happiness for a human's. Gabriel, the archangel, however, could do all those things, and more, so it was with a small smile on his face that he and Sam disappeared, forms crumpling into the soft mattress in their bedroom. Sam was out almost as soon as he hit the pillow.

Even in sleep, his arms crept around Gabriel, possessively, pulling him achingly closer. Gabriel kissed his lips, warm breath ghosting over his own, and tucked his head under Sam's chin once more.

He would wait, and show Sam that not everybody that loved him died. One day, Sam would be whole again, able to stand on his own two feet, and Gabriel would be there, waiting for that something Sam wanted to give him, and he'd finally be able to give it in return.


End file.
